Morning in Persia
by Rosepixie
Summary: A series of very short stories about characters from the frame story for 1001 Nights in the morning. There is very little plot, but it is safe to assume that the stories all take place on the same morning, so small connections may become evident. I have no current plans to expand any of these, but may continue to add more of them over time.
1. Dunyazade

As she sleepily followed the guard back across the Palace grounds to the royal Vizier's house, her father's house, Dunyazade yawned. She could see a hint of the pink tinge of sunrise over the walls. Morning was always bittersweet for her. While it was a great relief that the Sultan had chosen to let Shahrazade live another day (and, by extension, let Dunyazade live as well), it also meant that the fear and stress remained for at least another day.

The guards turned Dunyazade over to her nurse and left. Wordlessly, the two women went into the Vizier's house and made their way up to the women's rooms on the second floor. Dunyazade struggled to keep her eyes open as her nurse helped her out of the silks and jewels she was compelled to wear to the palace every night. The nurse looked almost as weary as her young charge, although she got considerably more sleep since she didn't have to spend nights with the Sultan.

Finally, dressed only in simple linen shifts, the women laid down to get a few precious hours of sleep. A tear ran down Dunyazade's cheek as she lay in the semi-dark room (the blankets they had hung over the windows only kept so much sunlight out). She could only afford a couple of hours of sleep before she had to resume the search for more stories - ever more stories! She refused to spend time even considering what would happen if they ran out. That couldn't be allowed to happen. She would dig through every book in the palace library and her nurse and various other attendants would scour the marketplace in search of new storytellers. They did this every day, and still they needed more stories.

The weariness from nightly vigils listening to her sister weave tale after tale and the stress of living in constant fear for their lives finally pulled her eyelids closed. Dunyazade let dreamless sleep pull her under. Another night was done and she had this brief respite to rest before she had to begin working on ensuring that her sister could get them through another one.


	2. Shahrazade

With the muted pink light of dawn peaking through the elaborately latticed windows of the palace, Shahrazade made her way back to her own rooms. His voice echoed in her memory as she walked between several large guards.

"So that your sister might hear the end of your tale, I will pardon you for one day more."

She closed her eyes at the memory. Those were always the words he chose. Those words haunted her dreams and refused to give her peace. She didn't dare hope for him to stop saying them, though. As horrible as they were, there was a terrible safety in those words.

The guard in the lead opened the ornate inlaid door of her chamber and stepped aside to allow her to move inside the room. The door shut behind her with a heaviness that never failed to startle her. A woman waited to help her out of her finery, slipping the bracelets from her wrists and the slippers from her feet. Ruby silk flowed off of her shoulders and slithered off of her hips. Jeweled pins dropped from her hair into a waiting box with painted flowers all over it. The fripperies that marked her as queen, the symbols of the danger that she lived every single night, were taken away from her and locked into an engraved ebony chest until she needed them again at nightfall.

The woman left her without having spoken a single word to her. Shahrazade shivered in her simple linen shift, despite the heavy heat of the room. She made her way over to her large, silk-draped bed and nestled among the pillows. Tears began to run unnoticed down her cheeks, dripping to stain the jewel-toned cushions.

She was almost out of stories. With the need to find new ones so urgent, she could only afford to spend a few hours sleeping fitfully before she needed to get up and begin the search again. This was how it was for her now, day after day, month after month. She got what little sleep she could in the morning, but then spent most of the day pouring over texts and listening to the tales brought back by her few allies. Their forays out to the marketplace to hunt for storytellers and travelers had proven invaluable. Without new stories, she would not last much longer. And then Dunyazade would certainly be next.

With a sigh, Shahrazade closed her eyes and curled up on her side. As heavy as her worries were, her exhaustion was heavier. She dropped almost instantly into a fitful sleep from which she would be too soon awakened.


End file.
